Interruptions at the Worst Times
by Lexma
Summary: AU. Sherlock is back from being 'dead' for two years and decides he needs to get his priorities straight. So what's first on the list? Cases? No. Giving Mycroft a hard time? No. John? Yes. Johnlock with bits of Mystrade.
1. Chapter 1

Just a little something I wrote up the other day that to prove that I'm not dead just...busy with school and slightly stressed. Chances are I'll get back to my main stories soon, I hope. Maybe once I get this Johnlock stuff out of my system, I hope.

Sorry if I mis-spell something or get this or that detail wrong. I'm new to the fandom and am still trying to work out the kinks. Hopefully this won't turn out too bad if I can get my Sherlockian friend to look it over.

*EDIT* She says everyone's in character, I'm happy. Modifications made to end of chapter.

Rights to Sherlock and all affiliated characters belong to BBC all of them except one, but I will point that out at the end of this chapter.

* * *

Time would numb the pain, or so he'd been told. However, after that fateful day at Bart's, John had come to one awful conclusion; time only seems to pass slower when someone is in the throes of grief.

After they'd buried Sherlock, John had returned to the flat with Mrs. Hudson, went straight up to his room, and locked himself in it for the rest of the night. While war might have hardened some men to where death no longer phased them, it had never been that way with John. Death still affected him slightly, but he'd found Sherlock could at least distract him from the horrors with all of his weird quirks, including shooting the wall and playing the violin at three in the morning. Which made it all the worse when Sherlock, one of the few John trusted completely and the only one he depended on frequently, died. It was simply unfathomable that Sherlock would do such a thing as commit suicide. Sherlock was brilliant, he wouldn't simply throw his life away like that, would he? Yet, John couldn't imagine a reason why Sherlock wouldn't tell him if he was alive. That was a lie, he could, but it ate him more if he thought Sherlock was alive and well, chasing someone or something.

Mrs. Hudson had woken him the next morning to coax him into eating and John had managed to eat some toast to appease his landlady. He then spent most of the day around the flat, sometimes staring at things Sherlock left out and recalling all the memories he could think of involving said object. The violin was particularly bittersweet, yes it had woken him up on multiple occasions, but it also often told John more about Sherlock's emotional state than even Sherlock would let on. The next week passed by in that fashion, with John staring around the flat without any purpose and Mrs. Hudson would get him to at least eat something during the day.

His mind was a wreck, hardly able to concentrate on anything except for the fact that the flat was too quiet, too empty, and Sherlock was gone. Time mattered very little to the distraught doctor, but one day he got a thought in his head to go for a walk. John cleaned up, dressed, and pulled on a coat before exiting the flat. He wasn't sure where he wanted to go and decided to wander aimlessly, that is until he realized that his feet had taken him straight to Sherlock's gravestone.

Unsure of what to do, John spent several minutes just standing there. Most people say a few things when they visit a grave of someone they cared about. What to say though, well, John couldn't come up with anything. The sky, already cloudy, started to drizzle and John hesitated, trying to think of something, anything to say before heading back to the flat lest he catch a cold. There was a lot he could have said, but in the end, all that came out was "I miss you." He turned and headed back to the flat, not noticing through the rain that someone was watching him, and that someone just shook their head sadly before leaving the cemetery themselves.

* * *

Every day for the next week John went back to gravestone, often not saying anything other than 'I miss you' or something to that affect. He would feel a little better after he went, never noticing someone watching him come and go. After another week of doing the same, John started only going two or three times a week, and he started talking more. He'd say things that came to his mind that he thought Sherlock would want to know, still not entirely convinced that the detective was dead. It would be just like Sherlock to find some way to record audio in case anyone visited and John said as much once, though he also admitted he couldn't find any such device.

John didn't move things in the flat very much, he cleaned up the lab equipment from the kitchen as best he could and put it away, but that was the extent of it. Mrs. Hudson was letting him stay as long as he liked, telling him that his share of the rent would be enough, though he was sure she was lying. That all being said, it wasn't that John had stopped grieving; he had felt Sherlock's loss very deeply and simply couldn't move on.

One day Lestrade walks into the flat unannounced, though chances are Mrs. Hudson decided to let him in. John glances over at him "Yes Lestrade?"

"I didn't want anything important, unless you're free to come check out a homicide case. I'm not expecting you to come up with something impossible" An observation like only Sherlock could make of course. "Anything you could come with would help us out a lot." John contemplates it, wondering if it woulld help him any to go. Eventually though, he decides that going to crime scene just wouldn't be the same without his detective.

_Wait, his detective? _The thought shocks him, and Lestrade gives him a concerned look "Everything alright John?"

John snaps out of his trance and nods "As fine as it can be. I think I have to decline though, Greg."

"Ok..." Lestrade doesn't seem convinced but nods a farewell and leaves. John follows to shut the door before returning to the couch, contemplating. It felt right to refer to Sherlock as his detective in his head, natural even. John is puzzled and decides to go on his usual walk, bumping into a younger woman when he set foot in the cemetery. She apologizes as she moves out of his way and John doesn't give her a second glance. She is here as often as he is after all, so bumping into her isn't too odd. John feels eyes boring into his back but when he looks around there is no one there, so he shrugs it off and resumes his path, hoping that Mycroft remembers his request to stop having his goons follow John.

When he stops in front of Sherlock's gravestone John hesitates, as unsure of himself as he'd been the first two weeks he'd come here. Sherlock, if he were here, would tell him to 'get on with it' no doubt and finally John begins. "Lestrade came over today, to check on me. He asked if I wanted to come along on a case, thought I might enjoy getting out. It was a homicide, if you were wondering. I declined, since I didn't think it would be right to go without you. In my head though, when I thought about why I shouldn't go, I thought it wouldn't be right to go without my detective."

A smile tugs at his lips "Yeah, I know 'Sentiment John', but it's true really, now that I think about it. Most people would have moved on or at least stopped coming here as often as I do, it's been nearly ten months after all. I can't though, You were my life Sherlock, which means I simply can't move on. It makes me feel even worse, that I can only say to you now what I could never say to you while you were alive. Mainly, because I only just realized this little fact myself. That being that I love you, Sherlock Holmes, not just as a flatmate or a very close friend, but well, romantically." John lets out a breath, it had all come out at once, as he'd found himself unable to stop, but it had been said now, even if Sherlock himself couldn't hear it. As soon as the words had left his mouth, John knew it to be true. The more he thought about it, the more it made sense; everything he'd done for Sherlock, gladly and without complaint from the errands to the praise, all of it.

John smiles honestly now, finding the knowledge that he'd been in love with Sherlock strangely, comforting. "I can only imagine what'd you say right now 'is this really John talking, the man who swears up and down that he's straight even though I have evidence that says otherwise?' You would, knowing you, but yes, that's exactly what I'm saying. Just because you're dead doesn't change that fact, I'll wait for the rest of my life to see you again if I have to, so I can tell you again and actually get an answer." John's smile slips away, but he's more content now, with himself if not the world or the state of things. True contentment and happiness will elude him, possibly for the remainder of his life, but he could accept that. "I'll be back again next week, same as always" John says quietly and heads back to the flat.

The woman John bumped into when he arrived watches him leave from a safe distance. She sighs, not looking forward to giving her report this time as it had been intimate and the words coming from her own mouth wouldn't mean as much. No, it would be easier to write them down, she decides, so they can be read over multiple times, in the true speaker's voice. A smile forms on her face, she'd best go write it all down and send the letter on its way before she forgets, only the recipient would know exactly what transpired here today, but at least she can look forward to getting all the money Mycroft owes her, someday.

* * *

"Two years" John says softly as he studies the gravestone. Despite all the rain it had endured, it's still in rather good condition.

After his 'confession', John had only come once a week from now until then, but he always came. He felt closer to Sherlock like this and it gave him more exercise than just going to the clinic every day, where he'd started working again. John never did pick up dating again, he found after his first try that he simply couldn't bring himself to really date, it would be like forgetting Sherlock. That was the one thing that John would never risk, the reason why he never sold Sherlock's stuff; he didn't want to forget about his detective, yes His detective, he'd come to accept that.

"Two years since what?" A female voice gets John's attention and he turns his head to the woman that that also frequents the cemetery. Her eyes flicker to the gravestone and nods slightly, answering her own question. "I see you here often, so he must have meant a lot to you."

"The world" John answers, turning his attention elsewhere, trying to be dismissive.

"Oh, I see" her tones is sincere, so maybe she does understand "I won't pry then, you just seemed really, really down today after you had seemed to snap out of it long ago, I wanted to make sure you weren't thinking of anything...drastic." John shakes his head, just a concerned citizen, it makes him feel a bit better about the day to know that there are a few of those left. Though it almost makes him chuckle, John is willing to wait to see Sherlock, there's no reason to accelerate the process "I'll leave you alone" she says quietly and retreats, John doesn't bother to give her a second look as she catches sight of something in a nearby alley and heads straight towards it. She double checks to make sure no one is paying attention to the alley before casually leaning against the wall. "He's alright though given what day it is his slight depression relapse can be forgiven. He certainly still misses you though. What brings you out here anyways, you never come to listen to my reports in the open."

"This is a special occasion" answers a smooth baritone as it joins her, the tail of the coat settling from it's usually flair.

"You're done? That took long enough, especially given your standards, Sherlock" she smirks at her own jab, hoping to ruffle his feathers.

It works as he rounds on her "After all I've done in the past two years you dare-" she holds up a hand before the tirade starts. Just because she was successful doesn't mean she'd like to get yelled at.

"I never doubted you, I've known you since we were kids Sherlock. Does this mean you don't need my help anymore?"

Sherlock settles a little, more familiar with the somewhat snarky side of his childhood friend, though he still seems a little offended. "Yes, I believe you and Mycroft can stop keeping an eye on John, I can take if from here."

"Of course" she nods and glances back towards the cemetery. "I'd hurry if I were you, if you plan on beating John back to Baker Street. He'll leave soon." When she turns around again she notices the tail end of that dramatic coat disappearing around the corner and laughs. Sherlock is back, best she go tell Mycroft to pull his agents out and cut the feed to his cameras, at least for the time being, before Sherlock decides to do it himself. She steps out into the street and hails cab to go and do just that, smiling as she realizes something. The elder Holmes brother won't be pleased to know she'd been helping Sherlock too, but he'll let it go eventually.

As she climbs into the cab she pulls out her mobile, noticing a slip of paper that hadn't been there before. She unfolds it and glances at the hasty but familiar scrawl before returning it to her pocket. At least now she could collect the money Mycroft owes her for their bet. The Gambler never loses a bet after all, even to her adopted brothers

* * *

AN: The woman, the Gambler, isn't overly important. Please don't mistake her for Irene Alder, because she's a different person entirely. The Gambler is kind of someone I made up on the spot but I've grown fond of her concept. Essentially she runs the streets of London and almost all the gangs are scared of her due to her uncanny ability to always win every bet she makes and her accuracy with a pistol. She likes to rile Mycroft and Sherlock up, but will still help them when they need her, since they are like family to her. That's the main reason I added her to the story.


	2. Chapter 2

Part two, once again looked over by my friend and within believable limits.

I'd appreciate any feedback on the story or my writing style.

* * *

John heads back to the flat, not hurrying, but not dawdling either since it started to drizzle on his way back. It isn't worth hailing a cab and he knows being out in the rain a little longer is worth it as he turns onto Baker Street. He jogs up the stairs, unlocks the door, steps inside, and heads up to the flat. As usual, it's quiet and empty of any consulting detectives, but some days when John comes back he almost expects to be Sherlock doing something or other like he hasn't been gone for two years.

He shakes his head, trying to shake off the fanciful thoughts, Sherlock is dead after all and wishing won't bring him back. John takes a shower, which helps him relax some of his sore muscles as he cleans off anything he could have picked up at the clinic. When he gets done and dries off he pauses, hearing a sad, apologetic, altogether unfamiliar melody coming from the direction of the living area. John frowns, he isn't tired enough to be hallucinating this bad, so someone must be in the flat. He quickly pulls his clothes back on and slips out of the bathroom, wishing he had some sort of weapon. If it is who John thinks it is, John could be forgiven for suspecting otherwise. If it isn't well, then he would probably be thanking himself for his thoughtfulness later.

However, it seems John didn't have to worry because when he steps into the living area he immediately notices why there's a disturbance; there, sitting on the arm of the chair, playing the violin as if he'd never left, is-

"Sherlock"

* * *

Ten minutes prior, at Mycroft's:

The power flicks off and Mycroft frowns as the security footage cuts out with the power, leaving his laptop screen blank though it's on. He waits a few seconds for one of the other grids or the back up generator to pick up, but nothing does. So unless power to the entire city got cut, someone has sabotaged his office. "Steady" he mutters to the few agents in the room, listening for anything that would tell him what's happening. His laptop gets snapped shut as the lights come on and everyone in the room has a gun pointed at the woman standing in front of his desk. "At ease" Mycroft orders, narrowing his eyes "What do you think you're doing, Gambler?"

The agents holster their guns and return to their duties as the Gambler speaks "Boss man says you need to pull all surveillance on Baker Street until tomorrow" she says simply. "I've already convinced all the on-sights to stand down but I can't cut the cameras."

Mycroft raises a brow "You only take orders from me and-"

"The Detective" she answers, nodding. Mycroft doesn't have to ask who she means, the Gambler prefers using code names when discussing business.

"Sherlock's back and he didn't say anything?" Mycroft isn't so much surprised as annoyed, of course his little brother would pull something like this after all he'd done to help Sherlock fake his death. This explains why Sherlock hadn't asked Mycroft to have an agent to watch John on the streets, he'd left it to their adopted sister.

"This is for you" the Gambler hands Mycroft a slip of paper, looking rather smug. Mycroft snatches it out of her hand and opens it to see Sherlock's distinctive scrawl:

_Pull your surveillance before I decide to deal with it myself and pay the Gambler for your bet, John admitted it first - SH_

"That...how..." Mycroft stares at the piece of paper in shock.

The Gambler laughs "I love betting against my brothers, oh and thanks for the tip" she points to Mycroft's, borrowed, shirt. "I'll have to collect my earnings from Sherlock tomorrow. I'm surprised Mycroft, Sherlock was utterly convinced you'd top more." Mycroft shoots the woman a cold look which she laughs off as she saunters out of the room, typing on her mobile. He sighs and opens his laptop, cutting the video feed from Baker Street. Just this once, he'll let his little brother have some privacy.

* * *

Back at Baker Street:

John and Sherlock spent the time after John said his name staring at each other, Sherlock never stops playing the violin, even when they're interrupted. Sherlock's mobile buzzes on the table, but Sherlock ignores it, continuing with the apologetic tune John had undoubtedly heard while he was cleaning up. Out of his old habit, probably from when Sherlock would lock himself in his room, John picks it up and checks the message.

**Clear - G**

"Clear?" John inquires, dumbfounded.

"No surveillance" Sherlock clarifies, keeping his eyes on John so he can note every detail and change as John sets the mobile back down. Sherlock notices the subconscious shift in his playing to a much more delighted tune but decides to let it play. John looks thinner than Sherlock remembers and he can see a few grey hairs. Other than the obvious wear Sherlock's 'death' had caused, John seems to be caught between shocked, angry, and delighted at Sherlock's return.

He pauses in his playing, intent on switching back to the apologetic tune while he thought about what to say when John snatches the bow and violin out of his hands. Sherlock lets him, so the violin doesn't get damaged but John sets it down in the chair carefully, knowing very well how fond Sherlock is of his violin. "Two years and all you can do is just sit there playing the violin?" John asks quietly.

"I find myself rather...unskilled in ways to apologize" Sherlock answers almost (he hates to admit it) hesitantly.

John smiles slightly at that, a smile Sherlock hadn't realized how much he missed, but it doesn't last long. "Where were you, why didn't you say something?" John demands.

Facts, facts Sherlock can work with and they roll off his tongue with ease. "The bulk of the past two years I have been dealing with the remainder of Moriarty's network so it would be safe for me to return."

"To the cases and your work" John guesses, becoming rather subdued.

"To you, actually" Sherlock corrects, making John snap to attention, eyes wide with what could be disbelief.

There's a long pause as Sherlock tries, unsuccessfully, to get a better read on John while John stares at Sherlock, confused. "...What?" John says eventually.

"If I hadn't have jumped they would have killed you, John. You, Mrs. Hudson, and Lestrade but it was you I was truly worried about. That is the reason I faked my death, the reason I spent those two long years away, and, sadly, the reason I had Mycroft keep an eye on you." John starts to protest but Sherlock interrupts him before John decides to start shouting. "It pained me to do so but if any of Moriarty's network escaped me and managed to kill you I..." Sherlock longs to finish that sentence in the way he is thinking: _I_ _would have made them suffer for taking you away and then followed you_ but decides to amend his statement "wouldn't have been able to live with myself." It isn't lying, but it isn't the whole truth either, for now it would work.

John notices his hesitation but decides not to pry, for which Sherlock is rather grateful. The silence that follows is more companionable and Sherlock finds himself itching to do something, anything, preferably something that involves John but restrains himself. He notices John pale about one thing or another but finds himself unable to find that last hint that will tell him what exactly John's worried about. "Is there something you're concerned about?" He asks after an (he suppresses a shudder) unsuccessful deduction.

"Mycroft" John groans "I may have uh...said a few things he might have heard" he blushes. Sherlock finds his mask slipping as a smile tugs at the corner of his mouth but manages to stop it.

"Something like this perhaps?" Sherlock reaches into his coat, pulling out a dated envelop. John takes one look at it and pales, Sherlock notices, when John sees the date. "Mycroft didn't see this and only one person know what's on here besides you and I. They've agreed to keep their mouth shut." Sherlock says softly, trying to sound reassuring and hands it to John. "I don't need it anymore, I have every word filed away."

John manages to go even redder as he accepts the envelope "Of course you do." He hesitates and looks from Sherlock, to the envelope, and back to Sherlock. "So...it doesn't bother you at all?"

Sherlock shakes his head "No, I don't believe something as...encompasing as sexuality should be defined by strict terms."

"Says the man who told me he's married to his work" John smirks.

"For the past two years, you were part of that work, John" Sherlock points out. John stills, eyes widening in a mixture of disbelief and recognition as there's a knock on the door. Sherlock glances in the doors direction and back at John "Mrs Hudson" he says lowly, he had heard her coming up the steps after all.

"Come in" John calls, not taking his eyes off Sherlock. He seems reluctant to let Sherlock out of his sight and Sherlock can hardly blame him, especially when considering what Sherlock had just told John. Sherlock turns to look at Mrs. Hudson as she stops, dropping her tea tray in shock. The china shatters though Mrs. Hudson doesn't seem to notice other than the automatic step back to avoid glass cutting her foot. She steps around the shattered china and marches over to Sherlock, landing a solid punch to his jaw.

Luckily he'd read the intent in her posture and turns his head as her fist lands, making the blow hurt less. "It's good to see you too Mrs. Hudson" Sherlock admits as he turns his head back towards his landlady. She's trembling and pulls him into a hug as she starts to sob. He lets the older woman cry for several minutes before gently trying to pry her off. John had set about cleaning up the mess while waiting for Mrs. Hudson to collect herself.

"Where have you been?" She asks when she finally steps back. Mrs. Hudson still appears to be shaken but unlike John, she doesn't seem as physically affected by Sherlock's absence.

"Working so I could come back and enjoy your biscuits and tea" Sherlock offers a half-smile.

Mrs. Hudson smiles "It's good to have you back, but I'm not your housekeeper." She turns towards John, accepting the tea tray back with what could be salvaged "Thank you dear."

"I'm going to go get some groceries" John offers. "Need anything Sherlock?"

"Tea would be nice" Sherlock comments and John shoots him a look before he grabs his coat and exits the flat. There is a level of intensity in that look Sherlock is unfamiliar with and he decides to contemplate it later.

Mrs. Hudson watches him go "Well, I'm going to head back down, you need to make sure that boy eats properly."

"He's usually the one telling me I need to eat" Sherlock points out, prompting a chuckle from Mrs. Hudson.

"Sometimes the caretaker needs to be taken care of too" she points out as she leaves. Sherlock shakes his head slightly as he picks up his violin again. He and John will need to talk later, but it would have to wait for now. Sherlock starts to play a piece that doesn't require much thought while he contemplates Mrs. Hudson's words. John had been his caretaker in every sense of the word; treating wounds Sherlock obtained, making sure to grab his favorite kind of tea, and picking up around the flat even if most of the clutter is Sherlock's.

What would be a good way to pay John back? Dinner, he decides, would be a good start since John hasn't been eating well and Mrs. Hudson had pointed it out. Sherlock briefly considers cooking but scraps the idea, the flat is clearly empty of food, it would take a while for Sherlock to find a good recipe in his Mind Palace (there are a few he has stored), and John is already getting groceries. He could go get something and bring it back to the flat, but that doesn't seem quite right either. Not to mention if John returned before Sherlock the doctor may panic. That just leaves dinner out.

Angelo's would be good but Sherlock would rather avoid causing a scene. His eyes flicker to his mobile and he stops playing, placing the violin back in its case. After picking up his mobile, Sherlock types a quick message and sends it.

**Could you stop by Angelo's and let them know John and I are coming? - SH**

Sherlock isn't waiting for more than a few moments before he gets a reply.

**No problem, you won't even owe me - G**

Satisfied with his arrangement, Sherlock settles down in his chair and waits patiently for John's return.


	3. Chapter 3

Well this is quite...unexpected. Thanks for the support, I thought it would take longer to rack up views, let alone follows or favs.

* * *

John steps into the flat with the groceries to find Sherlock sitting in his chair, starring at nothing in particular. _Off in his Mind Palace, no doubt._ He decides to leave the detective alone as he packs the groceries away and puts the kettle on, fixing a cup of tea for himself and Sherlock. Sherlock doesn't react when John sets the cup of tea in front of him and takes his place across from Sherlock. After several minutes with still no response from Sherlock, John sets his tea cup down. He studies Sherlock, noting with alarm that he'd lost even more weight in his absence.

_It's going to take weeks to get him back to a healthy weight, that's If he cooperates._ John shakes his head "what did you do to yourself Sherlock?"

"Food was hardly at the top of my priority list while I was away" John nearly jumps when Sherlock actually responds. Apparently he hadn't been as far into his Mind Palace as John thought.

"What about now?" John internally curses himself for the automatic answer.

"Admittedly I'd rather not eat more than necessary, but given the concern you just showed I presume that you suspect I'm going to die of malnutrition. You need to start eating properly again too" Sherlock points out, sitting up straight.

"Alright, I'll see if I can't fix something" John stands up and steps toward the kitchen when a hand closes around his arm. He glances over his shoulder at Sherlock, frowning.

"I was thinking we could go to Angelo's instead" Sherlock suggests almost...timidly? _No, probably just my imagination_.

"That...sounds good, I'm sure Angelo will be happy to see you. I haven't eaten there in a while" _Actually not since you left._

Sherlock seems to read John's expression because he frowns before returning to his normal state of neutrality. "Shall we be off then?" Sherlock asks. John nods and they collect their coats, pulling them on before leaving. Sherlock seems to be giddy, almost bouncing on his feet. "It's good to be back" Sherlock says when John joins him.

John can only roll his eyes and hails a cab. Sherlock waves the cab on before dragging John down the street. "I've been gone for two years, I need to see if I must make changes to my mental map of the city."

"Alright" John frees his arm and they resume their walk to Angelo's. Angelo is waiting for them when they walk in the door.

"Here's my favorite duo!" Angelo smiles "I've already got a table ready for you." He leads them to their usual table, menus already waiting and a solitary candle lit. John's brow furrows as they take their seats but Sherlock seems annoyed. _Odd._ "Your deserts are paid for the night so you can help yourself to anything after your meal I also have a bottle of wine set aside if you want it." Angelo goes and gets the aforementioned bottle of wine, setting it on the table when he returns.

John frowns "Angelo you don't have to-" Angelo cuts him off.

"The wine and deserts aren't out of my pocket, your meals however are on the house."

"John I think arguing is futile at this point" Sherlock comments, idly gazing over the menu. They order and Angelo leaves to go cook their food. "Well this is not how I expected this to turn out." John must have looked confused because Sherlock elaborates. "I didn't want anyone to make a fuss so I had someone who knew I was alive come in and tell Angelo. Clearly next time I need to be more specific if she's going to pull something like this."

"She? What does Molly know you're alive?" _Was I the only one besides Mrs. Hudson who wasn't told?_ John pauses, trying to spur his mind into the level of thinking he'd been accustomed to two years ago. Mycroft would have needed to help Sherlock fake his death and now that John thinks about it, Molly would have to. Molly fancies Sherlock though, she wouldn't have made arrangements with Angelo to make dinner seem like a date.

"I take it you've come to a conclusion?" Sherlock asks as he pours the wine.

"Well Molly wouldn't have arranged this and Mrs. Hudson didn't know" Another name pops into his head and he chuckles at the thought. "I don't even think you considered letting Donovan in on your little secret."

"No that would have been counter-productive" Sherlock agrees "Not to mention I would have had to deal with another possible leak and Donovan's unpleasant company." Sherlock takes a drink of wine. John lets the comment slide as he takes a sip of the wine and immediately sets the glass down, looking at the bottle instead, noticing the label matches what he'd tasted. The flavor is rich, clearly well-made and well-aged wine, in other words, nothing a woman John and Sherlock both know can easily afford. John contemplates asking but Angelo brings their food out so he decides to set his curiosity aside for the time being.

They dig in and Sherlock comments on the people that come in or walk past the window. John falls into his commenting routine he'd missed over the past two years, the reason why he stayed away from Angelo's. This is what he'd lost when Sherlock left, the easy banter between him and Sherlock that came almost as naturally as breathing. By the time they finish dinner the wine is nearly gone (most of it consumed by Sherlock) and Angelo comes back over with some cake for them.

"Thank you" John comments before digging into his cake, keeping an eye on Sherlock. Sherlock seems to be well on his way to being drunk (given his incessant chatter) and John himself has a nice buzz, so it'll be easier to take a cab back to the flat. After John finishes his cake and Sherlock decides he's done, they thank Angelo for the meal and step outside. John hails a cab and makes Sherlock get in first before climbing in himself. "221B Baker Street" John tells the cabbie.

The drive back to the flat is rather uneventful despite Sherlock rambling on about nothing in particular (he'd drank over half the wine himself). In normal Sherlock fashion, he climbs past John out of the cab right before it stops and stumbles. John sighs as he pays the cabbie before climbing out and pulls Sherlock up; pulling the detective's arm across his shoulders and half-dragging Sherlock up into the flat. It takes a few tries to get the door open and haul Sherlock inside. "You know for someone who was all but starving himself you aren't very light" John mutters.

"You haven't been working out, it's obvious because..." John purposefully tunes out Sherlock's babble as he locks the door and drags the detective into the flat to his room. Sherlock seems to be finally calming down so John tries to deposit him on the bed, only to be dragged down by Sherlock.

"Um...Sherlock?" John asks as he finds himself trapped in the detective's arms in a death grip.

"Shut up and go to sleep" Sherlock mutters, pulling John closer and resting his head on the doctor's shoulder. John tries to wiggle out of Sherlock's grasp even after the detective falls asleep but can't seem to get free. He sighs, finally giving up and attempting to get comfortable. After finally finding a somewhat comfortable position, despite Sherlock's tight grip, John falls fast asleep.


	4. Chapter 4

As usual, thanks for the support and I'd appreciate feedback.

* * *

John wakes up first the next morning, which, once he remembers the night before, he concludes is probably for the best. Sherlock's grip is, mercifully, looser so John slips free from the detective's arms and stands up, stretching. His bad shoulder protests, making him wince, but everything else appears to be fine. John risks a glance at his flatmate; Sherlock hasn't woken and if he kept his usual habits while he was gone he probably hasn't slept more than necessary since Bart's.

The memory makes John cringe and he takes one last look at his flatmate to make sure he isn't hallucinating before exiting Sherlock's room. He heads toward his own room with the intent of showering and changing, maybe updating his blog to let the world know that Sherlock is indeed back. John pauses in the living area, however, when he notices the brown-haired woman stretched out on the couch with her hands tucked behind her head like she owns the flat. He isn't sure how she got in or how long he spent there puzzled by that fact when she speaks.

"I'd think that a gentleman such as yourself would be above staring, John" the woman comments without even opening her eyes. "Mycroft let me borrow his key, in case you were wondering. Yes, he has a key, he's Mycroft, don't be surprised. Mrs. Hudson will confirm I've been here before on numerous occasions, Sherlock specified you not be told. He shares about as well as Mycroft, but I've learned to work around it."

John frowns. _She knows about Mycroft and Mrs. Hudson knows she's been here..why does she seem familiar._ He ponders it for a few more moments before it clicks. "You're the one I always saw at the cemetery."

"Bingo, Sherlock asked me to keep an eye on you during his absence. That's probably why he never bothered to tell you about me, knowing Mycroft is monitoring your every move is bad enough but a second Holmes watching you besides the one you live with?" She snorts "That'd make anyone go insane."

"You're a Holmes too?" John nearly groans at the revelation. Two Holmes are bad enough but with three running around how did they not own the world yet. _Or kill each other for that matter._

"Adopted" her reply makes John snap to attention. "This will take a while to explain, I'd imagine you want to change or shower. I apologize for my brother's behavior last night, he certainly never will. Off with you then, we can talk more when you're ready." John doesn't move right away, despite the fact that this woman obviously knows Mycroft and Sherlock he isn't keen on just letting her sit out here alone. After all, she might get into something and force John to deal with a crabby Sherlock later. She opens her eyes and fixes John with a cool stare. "I promise I have no intentions to harm you or Sherlock, nor will I break anything, now go on."

* * *

John finally wavers and heads toward his room, satisfying her more authoritative side. She knew Sherlock would be sleeping in today and had decided to take the opportunity to finally talk to John. When she'd monitored him in Sherlock's absence she'd used her 'Gambler' personality. It's not quite the same as the one she was born with; the Gambler is her business face that no one can crack, but her born personality, Holly, is more open.

She waits an appropriate amount of time and gets up, walking into the kitchen to put the kettle on for tea and leave out two cups with the tea bags ready, not Sherlock's favorite, she's not going to get into her brother's stuff. Holly returns to the couch exactly as she was before and waits. As predicted, almost as soon as John gets back to the living area, freshly showered, the kettle starts whistling. She fights a smirk as she senses John's confused look thrown her way before she listens to him walk into the kitchen. Moments later he comes back into the living room and, by the sound of things, sets her tea cup on the table before taking a seat with his own.

"Now then" she sits up and faces John "introductions, my name is Holly Holmes. Holmes isn't the name on my birth certificate but it's my legal name, Mycroft took care of that once he was able."

"Holly" John chuckles "Pretty normal when compared to Sherlock and Mycroft."

"Yes" she smiles "I was adopted into the family after my parents died, but they're my brothers as much as if I'd been born a Holmes myself. I've been raised with them since I was five."

"How is it they never talk about you?" John asks, taking a sip of tea.

"Well, that's easily explained; some people will tell you I have a split personality disorder, Mycroft included. That's not quite true, my business identity is almost entirely separate from me since my work is dangerous." At John's questioning look she adds "Yes, more dangerous than Sherlock's. They don't talk about me as to help me keep my identities separate. Sherlock also believed I had a split personality disorder for a while but he's realized that I really don't. I have to thank you for that, John."

"Why me? I didn't even know about you."

"My business personality has the standard Holmes's mentality; no nonsense, sentiment is garbage kind of thing, then there's me." She shrugs "Obviously I don't look like I can pull it off but that's because it's my mask."

"Like Sherlock's neutral expression" John nods, probably knowing all too well how often Sherlock puts his own mask on. "Alright, I can understand that, since Sherlock always comments I'm too sentimental."

"Your sentimentality is what helps him though" Holly points out. "That's why Sherlock now deals with my personalities as if they are one and the same. Mycroft is getting there but I mostly see him on business, so I can let it slide." _Not to mention Lestrade hasn't been working on Mycroft's cold shell as long as John's been chipping away at Sherlock's._

"I'm to assume you're the one who set up arrangements with Angelo last night?" John's comment snaps her out of her musing.

"Of course, I'll always help my brothers out." John looks away, turning a slight pink and she smirks. "He does care, it's just not easy for him to show it. I think if you give him a little more time he'll adjust though."

"I'm not quite sure" John mutters and Holly, knowing he isn't talking about Sherlock's lack of demonstration, picks up her tea and starts to drink it now that it's cooled off. "I'm out of my depth. He's been gone for two years and I realized a few things in that time. Now he's back and..." John trails off.

"Take your time, knowing my brother he won't push you. When you want to talk you may have to corner him. It isn't easy for him either." Holly knows her brother will have a difficult time talking, but she's confident that, for John at least, Sherlock will try.

John's mobile buzzes and he glances at the clock. Startled, John jumps to his feet "Bullocks I'm late for work."

"Don't worry about it, Mycroft called in for you" Holly comments. The news doesn't appear too surprising as John sits back down as he pulls his mobile out and his brow furrows.

"It's just Mary, guess no one told her." Holly frowns, giving John a look.

"Who's Mary?" She asks. At John's perplexed expression Holly rolls her eyes "I didn't monitor you at work, that was Mycroft's job."

"One of the new nurses, she's been pestering me to go out with her and I finally caved earlier this week. I'd like to make an excuse to not go but that wouldn't be very gentlemanly of me would it?" John means the question rhetorically but instantly Holly finds the urge to throttle the doctor or at least tear him a new one. Sherlock would be vindictive if she did though, which is reason enough not to. It's extremely difficult to reign in her urge to tell him off though. Holly tips her head back and closes her eyes, slipping into her mask that is the Gambler.

John doesn't seem to notice when she opens her eyes again, apparently lost in his own inner turmoil. It's harder to retain the mask of the Gambler in the flat, where she'd spent more time as Holly than the Gambler. _No, not Holly, the Gambler, John is a client. _She grits her teeth and stands up. "What you do is up to you, just be careful John, Sherlock can be both selfless and selfish." She shakes her head. _Gambler, not Holly._ "It was nice to meet you, thanks for the tea." The Gambler rushes out of the flat, ignoring Mrs. Hudson before sprinting towards one of her safe houses. _It's time to change, there's work to be done._

* * *

John frowns, staring at the spot where Holly had just been, she'd seemed distressed. When dealing with a Holmes though, John is never quite sure how to react. He cleans up the tea cups and returns to the desk, opening the laptop. Sherlock will no doubt stay asleep for a while so John takes the opportunity to update his blog. As he does that, he contemplates his options.

He could try and bow out of the date with Mary on Friday. Originally John didn't want to go out with her at all but the woman kept insisting so he decided to humor her, though he doubted anything would come of it. That would be rude though and doesn't sit well with his gentleman manners. One more date then and he could turn his attention to...to what? Sherlock? Sherlock apparently isn't disgusted with him and if he'd bothered to commit every word from his declaration all those months to memory...

Where does that leave them though? John sighs in frustration and pushes the laptop away. Mycroft may have meant well to call him off work today but John could use the distraction. He rubs his face, he needs to find something to do but he's already gotten the groceries and the flat is relatively clean, leaving absolutely nothing to distract him from his thoughts. Sherlock will undoubtedly have some confounding thing or another he wants to do today but the bloke is still asleep. _Oh Christ, Sherlock...what will he do if he finds out I have a date? He usually sabotages them because they 'distract me' but I don't even want to go to this one._

The thought of dealing with an offended, possibly hurt Sherlock after going on such a date would be exhausting, so much so that John could possibly snap at the detective (that never ends well). Of course if he told Sherlock beforehand the detective would insist on him not going if it would make John miserable or would try and keep him busy somehow. Though he wouldn't mind just this once John would still rather like to try and keep to his consistent use of manners. He looks back to the couch that was occupied ten minutes ago and scowls at it "You Holmes siblings are impossible to plan around!"


End file.
